A/N: The 'L' word has been said! Albeit at 16,000 feet in an airless environment… Still counts, right?

But… this chapter is Blastoria, not Dramione. Just giving you fair warning. The curse of two having two plots to resolve, I'm afraid. This chapter takes care of the Blastoria plot. I guess, if you truly hate Blastoria or Astoria that much, you can skip this chapter.

Dramione will return next chapter. And the 'L' word will be discussed. But I think it's best done without Blastoria distractions, which is why I've structured the story this way.

The chapter's plenty dramatic, so I hope you'll enjoy it, regardless.

I've been asked if the three-mile-high club is a concept that exists outside of my imagination. Anonymous Airline Personnel tell me that they know people who have done it, but not by that name. Well – there's a name for it now!

The next morning

Concentrating on his computer monitor with a pen clamped between his teeth, Harry missed the timid knock on his open door the first time. So, Astoria cleared her throat and knocked again.

Harry looked up and saw the perfectly-uniformed young woman standing uncertainly by his door. He took the pen from his mouth. 'Oh! Astoria! Sorry, I didn't see you there. Please, come in.'

He stood while Astoria closed the door and sat gingerly in a chair opposite him; then he sat down again. 'Is everything okay?'

She looked at her hands, clenched together in a knot on her lap, then up at Harry. 'Um…' She took a fortifying breath.

He nodded encouragingly.

'I want to drop the complaint against Blaise Zabini,' she blurted. 'Please. It's not too late, is it?'

Harry blinked. 'Ah, no, it's not too late,' he said neutrally. 'I'd be happy to set that in motion, but I need to be certain that your reasons for doing so are genuinely your own. That no-one's forcing you into a retraction.'

'No! No, definitely not. This is my decision,' she said firmly. The rims of her eyes were red, Harry noted. 'I made a mistake. And I lied.' Her cheeks red, she focussed on her clenched hands again.

'Can you tell me about it?' Harry asked gently. He pushed a box of tissues towards her. Just in case.

'I was angry at him,' she whispered. 'I honestly thought we'd – well… slept together that night. Then blanked me, a little later on. I was angry. I felt used. I also wanted someone else to… notice me, and, so… I thought 'two birds, one stone.' I told Captain Malfoy that Blaise sexually assaulted me, thinking that he'd feel sorry for me and' – she gulped, and tears slowly crept down her cheeks.

Harry plucked a couple of tissues and held them out to her. She took them with a whispered 'thank you'. She dabbed at her tears.

'I'd had way too much to drink that night,' she continued. 'Blaise was a perfect gentleman. He looked after me. And I repaid him by…'

Oh, God, she cringed. Saying it out loud made it sound a million times worse.

She looked up. 'We never slept together,' she admitted miserably. 'I dreamt it. And then everything…' she gulped hard. 'I want it to just go away,' she said, ashamed.

Harry nodded slowly. 'I know that was hard for you to say,' said gently. 'Well done for accepting responsibility.'

She snorted in an unladylike manner. 'Finally, you mean.'

He shrugged. 'Better late than never. Believe me.'

'So you'll withdraw the complaint, then?'

'If you're sure that's what you want?'

'Yes, definitely,' she said fervently.

'Then consider it done.'

She gave him a wobbly smile. 'Thanks, Harry.'

'No worries. I'll get the paperwork started this morning.'

She nodded. 'So, Blaise's reputation will be fixed, then? Once the paperwork's done, I mean. Will that take long?'

Harry, who'd been making a note in his diary, looked up at her with an odd look on his face. 'What do you mean, exactly?'

'Well, people have heard, somehow, about the complaint – I swear to God, I never told a soul, but it was like everyone knew before I'd even started on ground duties – and people are treating him really horribly. Like he's a criminal. They're making horrible racist comments and everything.'

Harry's eyebrows drifted upwards. 'That's very disappointing to hear.'

'Yeah, I'll say.'

He sighed. 'I'm sorry to say, though, that there's nothing the airline can do.'

At first, she thought she had misheard. But the look on Harry's face told her she hadn't.

Her face turned white. 'What? Why not?' she demanded in a high voice that cracked at the end.

'These complaints are supposed to be kept confidential,' Harry replied. 'Only a select number of people with a direct involvement in either the incident or the investigation are supposed to know. I've heard this airline employs a lot of loose lips, and unfortunately, Blaise has become the victim of mass poor judgement. However, even tracing where the leak started would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. We can't publicly censure everyone about their treatment of Blaise because we'd be breaching his privacy. And yours.'

'I don't care about mine,' she said bitterly. 'So, what you're saying is even though the complaint's dropped, Blaise could still be treated like a leper for something he never did?'

The tears were coming back, and she furiously tried to blink them away.

Harry nodded sadly. 'In the short-term, I'm afraid so. In the long-term, I'm going to turn Human Resources upside down and get to the bottom of this culture of gossip and unprofessionalism. But that'll take a while.'

Astoria nodded politely, but inside, she was outraged. And terrified. This isn't acceptable. This isn't enough!

'All right,' she said slowly. She took a deep breath in, then out. She thanked him, rose on shaky legs, and left his office.

Blaise was standing by one of the training centre's windows that overlooked the airline's flouncy gardens, blowing gently on his coffee to cool it. His head felt a little thick from last night. Colleagues milled about in groups in two or three, chatting, laughing and either ignoring him or casting surreptitious glances his way. No-one approached to say hi.

Except for one clot called Cormac McClaggen.

'Hello, son!' he brayed, clapping Blaise on the shoulder. His coffee nearly decorated the window. 'Haven't seen you in a while!'

Blaise bared his teeth. 'Well, here I am.'

'Right you are, son, right you are! I say, what bad luck with that Greengrass bird, eh?'

Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose. Cormac had two voice controls: Off and Loud. Consequently, some of his colleagues were edging closer.

Cormac rambled on, oblivious to Blaise's irritation. 'Fit bird, that Greengrass,' he said in a parody of confidentiality. 'Been on some flights with her. Man, her tits!' he held his hands out in front of his chest to demonstrate what he thought was their size.

Blaise blinked.

'Yeah, bet she'd be quite the rocket in bed,' Cormac droned.

Blaise's free hand curled into a fist.

Luckily for Cormac, the instructor was ready to get on with things and called the class together.

Astoria walked slowly through the open-plan office, thinking hard. Blaise will officially be off the hook, but big bloody deal.

I've made such an almighty fuck-up.

She noticed that a lot of the desks were empty. 'Where is everyone?' she asked a girl she recognised vaguely from her Induction training a few years ago.

The girl shrugged, stirring a cup of tea. 'Team-building exercise.' She noted Astoria's red, puffy eyes. 'You all right?'

'Oh, yeah,' Astoria replied airily. 'Bloody allergies. There's something hideous growing near my flat.' Then: 'Do you mind if I log on to one of the computers? To check my email?'

The girl shrugged again. 'Fill yer boots, luv.'

Astoria sat at a desk, careful not to dislodge any of the items on it, never mind that they looked like they were deposited by a hurricane. She logged on to the computer, struggling for a bit to remember her password, then brought up the airline's email programme.

In the TO: box, she entered Blaise's name. Then she hesitated; deleted it, and replaced it with the distribution list for the entire airline. Thousands upon thousands of names, all over the world.

In the CC: box, she entered Theo's name, along with Harry's. Theo was on a flight, however, so he wouldn't see it for hours to come.

In the SUBJECT: box: she wrote 'First Officer Zabini.'

Everyone,

I'm sending this email to put the record straight.

I laid a complaint, in confidence, about First Officer Zabini. I don't need to say what it was about because it seems that the entire airline knows about it, anyway. But the complaint was wrong. I made a mistake; and then, to make things worse, I lied. But now it's withdrawn.

What I did to First Officer Zabini was unspeakable. I cried wolf for a ridiculous reason without thinking what the consequences would be, and now he's paying the price by having to put up with your prejudice and silent accusations.

I want you all to stop it. He doesn't deserve it.

He is one of the kindest, most responsible, cheerful, hard-working people I've ever worked with. It was an honour to work with him.

I can't find the words to describe how sorry I am for putting his reputation and his career at risk. It is all, completely all, my fault. Not his.

I'm incredibly ashamed of myself. Not because of all of you. I don't care what you think of me. But because of what I did to him, and for dragging other people into this mess.

Mr Nott and Mr Potter, please accept this email as my resignation. Effective immediately, if possible.

Thank you.

Astoria Greengrass.

She carefully checked the text for spelling and grammar, took a breath, and clicked 'send.'

That's all I can do.

She logged off the computer and walked away.

Blaise was half-listening to the instructor drone on while doodling in his workbook when Cormac, who was sitting nearby, started hissing like a flat tyre.

Blaise shifted his eyes sideways to the idiot.

Discreetly, Cormac held his phone in one hand and pointed to it with the other. Rather frantically.

Frowning, Blaise pulled out his own phone, then looked at Cormac with a raised eyebrow.

'Email,' Cormac mouthed silently. Praise God, a miracle happened.

Blaise set his phone on his thigh and brought up his work email app.

He recognised the email Cormac was in a flap about. The one from 'Greengrass, Astoria.'

About him.

Blaise lurched to his feet unsteadily, still staring at his phone in disbelief. Every set of eyes in the classroom swivelled to him.

'Something the matter, Mr Zabini?' the instructor asked.

'Ah… um, yeah, an emergency,' he babbled, cramming his books into his case and grabbing his jacket and hat. 'Really sorry.'

'These things can't be helped,' the instructor said stiffly. 'Just mind that you complete the required assignment by no later than' –

BANG!

The door to the classroom closed on Blaise's retreating form.

'the twentieth of the month,' the instructor sighed.

In the corridor, Blaise fired off a text to Astoria.

I saw your email. I need to see you. We really need to talk. B.

As he hurtled around a corner, he narrowly missed colliding with Harry, who seemed to be in a hurry of his own.

'Sorry, man,' Blaise said distractedly. 'Have you seen Astoria recently?'

Harry waved off Blaise's apology. 'As a matter of fact, I'm trying to find her myself,' he admitted. 'She was in the open-plan sector outside my office, but left recently. I was heading to Reception to see if she'd gone past.'

'I'll come with you.'

Harry's hunch proved to be correct. Both receptionists saw her leave through the main doors, but even though they called out, she didn't respond, one said huffily.

Harry peered at her, tamping down his irritation at their self-centredness. 'Did she look upset?' he asked mildly.

They looked at each other and shrugged. Their assumption that they were snubbed by the hottest source of gossip in town was more important to them than someone else's feelings. But they quickly moved on. Now they were both simpering at recently–vindicated Blaise, fluttering their eyelashes at him.

Blaise didn't even spare them a look. 'I think I know where she might be,' he told Harry.

'Okay. If you find her, let her know from me there are lots of options we can talk about. I'll email her.'

Blaise nodded. 'I will. Cheers.' He headed out the door.

Harry turned his green gaze to the receptionists. 'Ladies,' he smiled, 'you are just the people I need for a special project.'

They preened. 'What's it about?' one asked excitedly.

'You two will be helping my team develop an online training module about racial, gender and religious tolerance in the workplace.' He grinned ferally. 'Your manager will be notified.'

He sauntered back to his office, leaving two horrified receptionists in his wake.

Blaise guessed that Astoria was heading to the train station, and when he put on a burst of speed in that direction, he found, to his relief, that he'd guessed right. She made a lonely figure, clad in the airline's teal and light-grey uniform, standing out among a small tide of businesspeople in dark greys, blacks and navy-blues.

She jumped when he called her name, but didn't stop. In fact, she sped up.

Undaunted, he kept going until he managed to leap directly into her path. She stopped, but the wild look in her tear-reddened eyes told him she was on the hunt for an escape. He put his hand on her arm to circumvent her.

'Hey,' he said gently. 'I was calling you, back there.'

Her eyes didn't go higher than his tie. 'Oh. Sorry.' She swallowed and gripped her handbag.

Now he was here, causing a minor disruption in the middle of the station's pedestrian traffic flow, he realised that he hadn't figured out what he wanted to say to her. Well, there were things he wanted to say, but where to begin? And what was appropriate to be told in the middle of a train station?

'I saw your email,' he started.

She slumped. Her eyes now focussed on his knees.

He sighed. 'Tori, please look at me.'

She did. Very slowly. He saw a fresh line of tears on her cheeks, and he slowly let go of her arm and brushed them away with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered shut for a nanosecond. Maybe he imagined it, but he could have sworn she leaned slightly in to his hand.

'I don't understand,' he continued quietly. 'You wrote that you made a mistake…'

Astoria trembled. 'I can't talk about it here,' she whispered, gesturing around her.

True. 'Come home with me,' he suggested. 'We'll have peace and quiet.'

She shook her head before he finished speaking.

He put on his winning grin. 'I'll make you some hot chocolate,' he wheedled. 'Just like my Nana makes. Best in the East End.'

She considered his proposal, and his grin. A pale smile briefly crossed her face before she silently nodded.

'Excellent.' Inwardly, Blaise was relieved. He directed her to his platform.

Astoria hadn't been in Blaise's flat – more accurately, an apartment - before. It was a big step up from the thin-ceilinged flat that she lived in – although she guessed it wouldn't be for much longer unless she found another job. It was outfitted in neutral taupe and grey, with chrome this, glass that and leather something else. Odd splashes of colour, like a turquoise bowl or blood-red vase, added a bit of life.

Blaise saw her looking around and smiled. 'Bit like a hotel room, eh.'

'Well…' she shrugged, trying to find something positive to say. 'Yeah,' she admitted. She followed him into the kitchen and set her handbag carefully on the chair next to her at the breakfast bar. She removed her teal side cap and added it to the bag.

'It came furnished,' he said, pulling out a saucepan and putting it on the gas hob before undoing his tie and slinging it over the knob of a nearby door. 'I don't really care how it looks. What matters to me are the people in it.'

Astoria nodded. At least it was a safe topic of conversation. 'Do you have flatmates?' she asked politely.

'Nah,' he said, opening the fridge to get milk. 'It's been me, myself and I since Corinne moved out.'

'Was she a previous flatmate?'

Blaise's dark eyes settled calmly on her. 'Ex-partner. Ex-fiancée, to be technical.'

Astoria looked up, surprised, and blushed when she met his gaze. 'I'm sorry,' she said hopelessly.

He shrugged, then smiled. 'Water under the bridge.'

He placed what looked like a dizzying array of ingredients for hot chocolate on the breakfast bar and grabbed a bowl from a cupboard underneath. 'She wanted me to get out of the aviation industry. Do something in business with her old man. Guess I never realised how serious she was about it.' He started grating chocolate into the bowl. 'Guess she never realised how serious I was about aviation.'

'Oh,' she replied helplessly. Her eyes danced over the line of ingredients. She sat up a little straighter. 'Is that rum? And chilli?'

He grinned. 'Couldn't possibly say. Nana would flog me for giving a family recipe away.'

She rested her head on her hand and quietly watched him cook.

Astoria took another sip of the hot chocolate. God, it was good. And comforting. And possibly sleep-inducing. She felt tired. 'Your Nana is a national treasure,' she commented.

Blaise laughed. 'She'd love being called that.'

Initially, she sat on the settee that was opposite to the one he sat on, but at his raised 'are you kidding me?' eyebrow, she got up and headed around the coffee table to sit stiffly next to him. With air between them.

'You wanted to know why I said I made a mistake,' she said bluntly.

Blaise nodded, watching her.

She let out a shaky breath. 'After… what happened yesterday, I realised that we hadn't had sex before. I must have had a really vivid, alcohol-influenced dream… and thought it was real.' She trailed off.

'I've had those,' he said mildly, nodding.

She raised her head. Blaise noticed that her cheeks were burning red. 'Is that it?' she asked incredulously.

'Huh? Is what it?'

'I've just told you about the pathetic reason why your career's been on the chopping block the last few days, and all you have to say is 'I've had those?''

'Well, it's true! I have!'

Astoria jumped up. 'I accused you of everything but rape!' she cried. She paced to the balcony's sliding doors and back, feeling coiled up tight, like a spring. 'You have the full story now! Isn't it incredibly pathetic?'

Blaise stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. 'I agree with you there. It is.'

She turned on him despairingly. 'Why are you just sitting there, then? Why aren't you yelling and carrying on like yesterday?' she shrieked.

He stood up and ambled slowly to her, his hands in his pockets. Deceptively casual. 'I've finished being mad at you,' he said.

'I was wrong, I'm a liar and I'm a vindictive bitch!'

He sighed. 'Tori. If you're trying to get me mad in order to punish yourself, you'll be here for a long time. It takes a lot to get me angry, especially to yesterday's level. Right now, you've got me at 'mildly annoyed,' and you'll just have to be happy with that.'

'But how can you' –

'Tori.' This time his voice was harder, and she bit her lip. 'You said you accused me of everything but rape, right?'

She nodded dumbly.

'Yeah, well, yesterday, I nearly did.'

Her eyes shot up to his. 'Don't be ridiculous. You didn't.'

'I was on the verge of losing all control,' he said bitterly. 'I was incredibly close. I don't think you realise how close. My old man beat up my Ma for years. Whenever she'd serve us kids breakfast with another black eye or bruised whatever, I promised myself I'd never touch a woman in anger. No matter what.' His eyes were bleak. 'Now look what I've done.'

Astoria's anger and self-pity drained from of her. But what replaced it felt far, far worse.

'I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did yesterday,' he whispered. 'That's why I wanted to talk to you. I'm not angry at you anymore, love. But I feel really bad about the way I treated you. I hope you'll be able to forgive me. One day.'

She looked at him, standing tall in his uniform, a symbol of everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. The man inside the uniform was another Blaise altogether. She worked and socialised with cheerful, chipper, popular Blaise. She had sex with a passionately angry Blaise. In front of her stood defeated, guilty Blaise.

It was probably time for her to pull her head out of her arse and start thinking about other people.

She slowly walked to him, until she was close enough to smell his cologne. It made the pit of her stomach feel tingly. She took his hand, and looked at the contrasting colours their skin made.

'I'll forgive you,' she said. 'If you forgive me.'

They stood in silence. Eventually, Blaise's hand tightened around hers, and he drew her in to his body.

Surrounded by his body, Astoria felt safe. And warm. And tired.

Drowsily, Astoria opened one eye, then the other. She felt warm and relaxed, but at the same time disoriented and uncomfortable. Her pillow was hard, but warm, and it smelled delicious. Like Blaise's –

She lurched up. She was on Blaise's settee. Her pillow was Blaise himself.

He paused the game he'd been playing, silently and one-handed, on his phone. 'Sleeping Beauty awakes,' he smirked.

She gingerly felt her hair, and realised, with horror, that some of her make-up had taken up residence on his shirt. 'Oh, God, I'm sorry,' she said guiltily.

He looked down at the stain and shrugged. 'I've had worse,' he said. He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. 'Time to get changed, anyway, I reckon.' Whistling, he headed through a doorway.

Astoria followed him, searching for a bathroom where she could assess the damage to her appearance. Her perfect bun was totalled, so she drew the pins and elastic band out and finger-combed her long hair. She wiped off most of her heavy make-up with tissues, but couldn't be bothered re-applying it.

Back in the hall, movement at the end caught the corner of her eye. It was Blaise, or, rather, Blaise's image in a full-length mirror, pulling on some jeans. His chest was bare.

Feeling guiltily vouyeurish, she watched his body move as he pulled the jeans on, then fastened and belted them. He reached out of sight for a t-shirt and shrugged it on. It was tight. He had the body to carry it off, no worries there. No wonder he had so much success with women.

She bit her lip. Especially considering his skill in bed.

Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she rubbed them. She looked away.

'Hey.'

She jumped, and looked guiltily back. 'I, uh, just used' –

'No worries,' he smiled, heading down the hallway to her. 'Make yourself at home.'

Would you say that if you knew what I wanted to do to you right now? she wondered.

He held out a hand and lifted a lock of her hair, letting it run through his fingers. 'Feels so nice,' he whispered. Then he smiled, abashed. 'Sorry.'

'Do you prefer it up or down?' she asked.

He thought. 'When it's up, you look flawless, professional. Unattainable. Beautiful. When it's down, you look natural. Carefree, and pretty. So… I prefer down.'

She quirked her brows. 'Beautiful is considered to be better than pretty.'

'Not to me,' he said in a low voice. ''Pretty' is something I can touch. Tease. Play with.' His hand crept out again and he gently brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her heart banged almost painfully against her ribs, and she took the plunge, looking finally into his eyes.

Oh.

My God.

Standing on her tip-toes, she reached up and slowly laid a finger on his lips, exploring their shape and feel.

'Tori,' he whispered, and her eyes closed at the sound. 'I want to make yesterday up to you.'

'I' – she swallowed. 'I want that more than anything.'

He let out a breath, lowered his head and kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Perfectly.

Astoria met another new Blaise. She got to know him over the rest of the day and well into the night. This Blaise idolised her body, touching every part of it with his fingers, lips and tongue. Her hair fascinated him. He ran his fingers through it, brushed it gently off her face, and wrapped his hand around it when he slid into her body from behind, or when she pulled him into her mouth.

He was slow, gentle and wondrous. He set her body alight with a gentle flame that slowly grew into unbearable lust. 'Don't hold yourself back,' she begged, as he leaned over her, his lips barely separated from hers.

'I'm not, love,' he replied. Then he surged into her body.

True to his word, he made up for the orgasms he denied her yesterday, making her come almost endlessly with his mouth, fingers or cock.

But what she loved the most was watching his beautiful face. How it changed as he discovered something new about her. Or when he experienced her touch. Even when they were lying together, not moving, not talking – she loved the way his eyes roamed slowly over her. Like she was special.

'You are,' he said, his eyes warm on her skin. 'I think you're special, love.'

She hadn't even realised she'd spoken out loud.

She hugged him tight. Finally, the tears that fell onto his chest were happy ones.

Back to Dramione, folks! Kudos for making it this far.